


want the mark he made on my skin to mean something to me again

by suzukiblu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Battle Couple, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Getting to Know Each Other, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, M/M, Miscommunication, Self-Esteem Issues, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 18:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15443145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: “What makes you think I’m the one to watch his back?” Jesse says. That’s not exactly his specialty. He can do it, sure, but so could any other Blackwatch agent.“You seen Dragonstrike yet?” Reyes asks.“The hell is Dragonstrike?” Jesse wrinkles his nose at him.“You might wanna ask Shimada about that,” Reyes says, then gets up and leaves without another word.





	want the mark he made on my skin to mean something to me again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wylaens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wylaens/gifts).



> Done for fakegods, an expansion/continuation of [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15223496) from McGenji AU week. As usual, I wrote a bit more than I meant to, but I had a good time doing it!

“Oh,” the medic’s pretty little assistant says in surprise as she steps into the room, her eyes widening, and Jesse resists the urge to sigh. He already knows what she’s looking at, and it _ain’t_ any of his scars. Jesse’s soulmate mark winds around the full length of his right thigh from hipbone to knee, a flashy green Eastern dragon that’s all shimmering golden claws and grinning fangs. It ain’t exactly a subtle look, and the hospital gown bares almost all of it. 

“Yes, it’s real; no, it ain’t a tattoo,” he says. 

“I--ah, I apologize,” she says, wincing a little. She’s got an accent he can’t place--something European, for sure. “I did not mean to stare. I have your test results.” 

“. . . and?” Jesse squints at her in confusion. She’d _better_ have his test results, her boss spent enough time poking and prodding him for them. He doesn’t get why she’s telling him that, though. 

“You are in fairly good health,” she says. “Some evidence of malnourishment, but nothing too serious. We have some supplements for you to take for a little while, they should help.” 

“Sure,” Jesse says, still wondering why in hell they’re having this conversation but not willing to be rude to a lady about it. The doctor’s assistant-- _”call me Angela, please”_ \--talks him through a few shots he apparently needs and some other stuff he only half-understands, and very carefully doesn’t look at his soulmark again, not even in sneaky glances. She’s got more self-restraint than most people, apparently. 

Overwatch is pretty damned strange, so far. Jesse’s been here all of three days and spent most of that time under arrest, and every person he’s met is either weird, crazy, or both. 

Still, he’s only here ‘til someone wises up and kicks him out, so he might as well not worry about it. If the worst he has to deal with is somebody eyeballing his soulmark funny for a minute, well, it’s still better than Deadlock. 

.

.

.

“Jesus, kid,” Reyes says, and Jesse makes a face into his locker, then clears his expression and turns around. This is what he gets for changing in front of anyone. 

“See something you like, boss?” he asks lightly. 

“Not funny,” Reyes says, giving him a dubious look. “That’s your soulmark?” 

“Looks like it,” Jesse says. Reyes’ soulmark is a red line across his eyes--like a scar, but a bit too bright. It’s unusual, but Jesse would much rather have one like it than his own. There’s no mistaking his mark for anything but what it is. They say bigger and brighter soulmarks mean a more intense connection, though Jesse doesn’t really believe that. Sounds like old wives’ tales to him, as do most things about soulmarks. Oh, he knows there’s somebody on the other end of the thing--some bright green dragon of a stranger--but the idea he’ll love them? Hardly. 

Jesse loves his gun and his mama and whatever’ll keep his ass out of the fire, that’s it, and otherwise he’s a simple man with simple needs. The idea of some fancy flashy stranger just showing up and taking over his heart is laughable at best. Some fancy flashy _kid_ , at that--his soulmark didn’t show up ‘til he was nearly three, his mama told him, which means right now they’re fourteen or fifteen. 

Yeah, he definitely does not believe that bigger and brighter soulmarks mean anything. So he don’t pay his soulmate mark much mind, and rolls his eyes at anyone who sees it and exclaims over it, and generally wishes he could pass the thing off as a tattoo, except since it literally _gleams_ that ain’t really an option. In Deadlock, people knew better than to pry in anybody else’s business. In Overwatch, that apparently ain’t the case. 

“It’s beautiful,” Reyes says, and Jesse startles. What--

“Uh, what?” he says, grinning nervously. That. That is a weird thing. Who just _says_ shit like that? 

“It’s beautiful,” Reyes repeats. “That’s gotta be an impressive soulmate, kid.” 

“Whatever,” Jesse says as he pulls on his pants. He really needs to stop ending up in these situations. “Yours looks like somebody hit you in the face.” 

“Knowing my life so far, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Reyes says wryly. 

“Wait, you don’t know ‘em?” Jesse asks, squinting at him in disbelief. Reyes has to be pushing forty, if not over it. The idea he ain’t found his soulmate yet is _weird_. 

“If I do, I’ve never figured them out,” Reyes says with an easy shrug. 

“Shit, I didn’t know you could get away with not _meeting_ ‘em,” Jesse says. He’ll be damned if he knows who his mark belongs to--he can’t say he’s met many people who remind him of dragons, much less such fancy ones--but he has less than zero interest in ever running into the kid. He wouldn’t mind another twenty years or so of peace and quiet and not being expected to live up to somebody’s weird childhood fantasy. 

Maybe he’d mind less if his mark was more like Reyes’--something small and simple that took up limited real estate. The expectations someone who took up his whole damn _thigh_ is gonna have are not expectations he wants to deal with. 

“You’ll meet them eventually,” Reyes says. “Everybody does.” 

“Ugh, don’t threaten me, old man,” Jesse says, making a face as he pulls on his shirt. 

“Most people wouldn’t consider that a threat,” Reyes says. 

“Most people ain’t got the sense God gave a rabbit,” Jesse snorts, shaking his head. Catch him getting fussed over some fancy green kid he’s never even met? Not fucking likely. 

Besides, he’s got enough to worry about right now. Soulmates are the last thing on his mind these days. 

.

.

.

Nobody in Deadlock had a soulmark bigger than their own palms, and half of those were scarred over or faded out. And in Deadlock, everybody knew not to go poking into nobody else’s business on account of they might get stabbed for it. 

In Overwatch, Jesse ain’t allowed to stab anyone. Not even if they deserve it. Not even if they really, _really_ deserve it. Unless they’re a double-agent, in which case it’s apparently fine.

Jesse didn’t actually know that guy was a double-agent, but in his defense, he was still a creep and a half. _He_ can talk shit on his soulmark, but he don’t need some weirdo getting up close and personal with it in the locker room. 

“For the record, in the future you can report behavior like that to commanding officers,” Morrison says. 

“He _was_ a commanding officer,” Jesse points out in annoyance, scrubbing restlessly at his leg where the guy’d touched him. And also bled on him. He’s put pants on since then, obviously. 

“There’s more than one of those,” Morrison says. Jesse is dubious, but holds his tongue. In Deadlock, people knew when to shut up. Nobody in Overwatch seems to. “Now, more importantly: are you alright?” 

Yup, nobody in Overwatch knows when to shut up. 

.

.

.

An agent Jesse barely knows tells him they saw dragons once: blue and shining beasts that looked like they were made of light. He wonders, but mostly about what they’d been drinking. 

Dragons ain’t any realer than the idea of loving some stranger, which is probably why Jesse’s stranger is one. 

.

.

.

Jesse adjusts, eventually. Overwatch is weird, but he’s dealt with weirder, and he’s getting used to it. He’s good at getting used to things. So he gets used to Reinhardt’s booming voice, and Torbjorn’s endless pictures of his kids, and Angela fretting over him eating right every time she visits, and Reyes riding him in training, and Amari’s comments, and Morrison’s questions, and--

Well, there’s a lot to get used to. It’s taking a while, but he’s managing it. 

It’s been a few months, anyway, and he feels a little better about things. Overwatch is weird, but that’s just Overwatch; it’s got its little tics. Jesse learns its ins and outs easily enough. It’s a lot less dangerous than learning Deadlock was. He knows where everything is now, he knows how the chain of command works, he knows when he can stab someone--all the necessary basics, and increasing amounts of the little things too. He knows Amari’s favorite teas, and who’ll let him get away with sneaking out of the infirmary when he’s stuck in there, and where _not_ to stand when Reyes’s about to start shooting. Little stuff, though it’s adding up. 

So yeah. He could get used to it here, if he was stupid enough to. 

.

.

.

He’s getting used to it here. 

.

.

.

The _fifth_ time Reyes don’t throw him out, Jesse almost thinks he might get to stay. 

.

.

.

“What are you _doing_ ,” Angela says. 

“Training?” Jesse says, squinting at her in confusion. 

“You’re bleeding!” she exclaims, and he looks down at himself and--

“So I am,” he says. Angela fusses him away from the training bots and fusses over him, which is still entertainingly novel after all this time, and Jesse just nods agreeably to whatever she says and lets her fix him up. He ain’t really _hurt_ but Reyes’d still have his head if he caught him neglecting injuries, so she’s saving him some trouble. 

“Honestly,” Angela says with a sigh, frowning at him. “What would your soulmate say, Jesse?” 

“I imagine not much, seeing as they ain’t even old enough to drive, much less tell a grown man how to take care of himself,” Jesse says. It comes out a little mean, but he always gets a little mean when soulmates come up, even though he tries not to. 

“My soulmate is thirteen, and plenty old enough to worry,” Angela says. “I’m sure yours is too.” 

“Damn, that young?” Jesse says, eyebrows raising. He’s never actually seen Angela’s soulmark, come to think of it. “You ain’t met ‘em yet, have you?” 

“Briefly,” Angela says. “She’s Ana Amari’s daughter.” 

“. . . good luck with _that_ ,” Jesse says, and Angela laughs. 

“It will work out,” she says. “We are soulmates, after all.” 

“Soulmates don’t mean it’ll work out,” Jesse says. He’s seen more than enough proof of that. 

“Then perhaps I just believe it will,” Angela says. 

“Based on what, exactly?” Jesse asks. 

“Based on the fact that I do not intend to fail her,” Angela says firmly. 

“That is the least sense I have ever heard you talk,” Jesse says. 

.

.

.

“I think you’re field-ready,” Reyes says. Jesse laughs at him. Then looks at him. 

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks disbelievingly. It’s been almost a _year_ ; he’d been starting to think Reyes was just keeping him around as a mascot or something. 

“Kid, I just watched you hit seven targets with a six-shooter,” Reyes says. 

“So?” Jesse says. 

.

.

.

Jesse’s gotten pretty used to it around here. 

.

.

.

Missions are good. Jesse likes them; the thrum in his blood and the challenge and the danger, all the things he’s been missing from his Deadlock days. He don’t particularly get on with any of Reyes’ people, but he can be civil long enough to do the work. 

As long as they are, anyway. 

Missions are good, though, and he’s good at them. Reyes ain’t a man he understands, but he at least understands how to work with him. And the better he is at that, the more missions he gets to go on, whether he gets on with Reyes’ people or not. It’s simple enough math, even for a dropout. 

He goes on a lot of missions. 

.

.

.

Angela is sitting in the hall with her head in her hands, her Valkyrie suit covered in blood. Presumably it’s not hers, but from the look of her, it just might belong to someone who Jesse’d care about hearing was dead. 

“Ange,” he says warily, stepping closer, and she looks up at him with a miserable expression. 

“I think I just did a bad thing,” she says. 

.

.

.

Two months later, Reyes says, “We’ve got a new recruit tomorrow. Get along with him.” 

“If you say so, boss,” Jesse says. 

.

.

.

Genji Shimada’s got the most beautiful eyes in the goddamn world. Jesse takes one look at them and forgets entirely whatever dumb small-talk platitude of a greeting he’d been about to make. 

“Uh,” he manages, blinking stupidly at the man standing in the infirmary in front of him. 

“Get the staring over with now,” Shimada says. “I will not tolerate it again.” 

“My apologies,” Jesse says instead of anything that would just sound like a stupid pick-up line. There’s not much else he could say, except maybe for an _actual_ stupid pick-up line, which he is not _quite_ stupid enough to try right now. “Name’s McCree. Reyes sent me along to show you the way to the gym for training.” 

“Then do so,” Shimada says. Those beautiful eyes must be cybernetic, Jesse thinks--or at least the right one must be; it literally _glows_ , same as the plate on his chest. The other’s a more normal brown. They’re still both gorgeous. 

He is a grown-ass man who can _handle_ gorgeous eyes, he reminds himself firmly, and leads the way. Shimada follows on his heels a little too close for comfort, and Jesse tries to pretend he ain’t way too aware of him. It’s not like there ain’t plenty of pretty people in Overwatch, but those eyes are something else. 

Again, though, he’s a goddamn grown man. He can _handle_ them. 

“So you’re new to Overwatch,” he says. 

“No, I need shown around because I am an idiot,” Shimada says. His voice sounds like being stabbed feels, metallic and sharp. Jesse feels about as struck as if he _had_ been stabbed. He doesn’t bother pointing out the other could just be new to this particular base. 

“Shouldn’t talk yourself down like that, partner,” he says lightly instead. Shimada shoots him a gorgeous glare. Jesse hardly minds the stabbing feeling. He takes Shimada to the gym and shows him how to set up the training bots, and the entirely unarmed Shimada immediately selects _far too many_ and goes to fucking _town_. 

He has knives in his legs, turns out. And shuriken in his arms. And a _lot_ of pointy bits. 

“Lord almighty,” Jesse says faintly, tipping his hat back as he watches the mechanical massacre. 

Well, he’s in trouble. And Reyes is gonna be downright _thrilled_. 

.

.

.

Shimada ain’t allowed out in the field yet, which ain’t something Shimada likes. Jesse sees him in the gym more often than not, usually doing something likely medically inadvisable. Angela is getting increasingly stressed, at least. 

He’s getting the impression Shimada’s first check-up didn’t go as smoothly as his. 

He watches the guy train sometimes, partially because Shimada don’t seem to care and partially because Reyes is probably going to expect them to be able to fight together; he might as well get a head-start on learning the guy’s style. 

So far, said style seems to be “take out as many opponents as you can before they take _you_ out”, which is maybe not a _great_ sign for his field-readiness. Watching him makes Jesse restless; the guy’s already turned down every attempt he’s made at making nice, so chances of that are slim, but part of him still stupidly wants his attention. He ain’t getting that unless they’re on a mission together, though, and they ain’t going to be on a mission together until Shimada stops wrecking himself in training on a regular basis. 

Chances of that are also slim, at this rate. 

“You really gotta calm down, partner,” Jesse says with a sigh, leaning over Shimada. The other just grunts at him, not moving the arm he has thrown over his eyes. “You do _want_ to get out there with the rest of us, right?” 

“They will let me out,” Shimada says darkly. “They spent too much money on me to waste it.” 

“Maybe fair, but they ain’t gotta let you out anytime _soon_ ,” Jesse points out, distractedly flicking his eyes over the other’s artificial body. Angela really outdid herself, making this man. He should probably never say that out loud, ever. “Come on, lemme help you back to your room.” 

“I do not require your help,” Shimada says, lowering his arm to give him an icy look. It probably would’ve worked better on someone whose heart didn’t flutter at every sight of his eyes. 

“Your leg is sparking,” Jesse says. “And it looks like you bent something _real_ important in it, too.” 

“Your point?” Shimada says. 

“I’m definitely helping you back to your room, is my point,” Jesse says. “Unless you want me helping you to the infirmary, I’m open to that too.” 

“Fuck off,” Shimada says. He doesn’t resist when Jesse drags him to his feet, though, which he’s gonna pretend is Shimada being agreeable and not the obvious exhaustion or the busted leg. It’s probably the exhaustion and the leg, though. 

“Be nice,” Jesse chides, looping one of Shimada’s arms over his neck. Shimada just glares at him. It’s still probably not as effective as it could be. “Attaboy. Let’s go.” 

.

.

.

Shimada really does have the most beautiful eyes. 

.

.

.

“Are you making friends with him?” Angela asks. 

“I look like I got friends?” Jesse asks her wryly, gesturing at himself. 

“ _We’re_ friends,” she says. He tries not to laugh at her, because that would be mean, but she can’t be serious, right? He’s Reyes’ pet project at best; he can’t even get along with other _Blackwatch_ agents, much less any Overwatch ones. A pretty little blonde do-gooder is not his friend. 

He isn’t _worth_ being someone like Angela’s friend. 

He might as well be claiming to be whatever his soulmate’s expecting to find when they find him. 

.

.

.

“Fuck you, cowboy,” Shimada says. 

“Don’t be such a flirt if you’re not gonna follow up, darlin’,” Jesse chides. 

.

.

.

“Shimada’s coming with tomorrow,” Reyes says as he sits down on the other side of the cafeteria table. Jesse pauses with half a sandwich in his mouth, then takes a moment to chew and swallow. 

“That so?” he asks carefully. 

“Don’t give me that look, kid,” Reyes says. “I know it’s a terrible idea.” 

“But you’re doing it.” Jesse raises an eyebrow. 

“Consider yourself on babysitting duty,” Reyes says. 

“You’re joking, right?” Jesse asks, because Reyes _has_ to be. “He’d fucking _stab_ me.” 

“Consider yourself on _subtle_ babysitting duty, then,” Reyes retorts. 

“What makes you think I’m the one to watch his back?” Jesse says. That ain’t exactly his specialty. He can do it, sure, but so could any other Blackwatch agent. 

“You seen Dragonstrike yet?” Reyes asks. 

“The hell is Dragonstrike?” Jesse wrinkles his nose at him. 

“You might wanna ask Shimada about that,” Reyes says, then gets up and leaves without another word. Jesse takes another bite of his sandwich, frowning to himself. 

What the hell was _that_ about? 

.

.

.

He does mean to ask Shimada about Dragonstrike, whatever it is, but the mission’s too busy going to shit for small talk. 

“Stay on the _damn_ payload!” he yells. 

“That is not where I am useful,” Shimada says, then runs off like an asshole. Jesse runs after him, cursing, but he can’t vault fences higher than he is tall or scuttle up walls like a damn spider, so that goes to shit pretty quick. 

Still, he’s supposed to be watching the idiot, so he shoots the lock off the fence’s gate and runs around the side of the wall straight into a disaster. Shimada’s surrounded by Talon thugs and he’s moving _quick_ , so fast Jesse can hardly believe it, so he looks like a blur of green light, but that’s the only thing keeping him alive and it’s not gonna last. Shimada has to be perfect, after all, but the Talon agents only have to get lucky once. 

A sudden fury blossoms in Jesse, nothing like the usual cold focus he feels in these moments, and his eye starts to burn red. 

Deadeye knows its targets. 

Peacekeeper goes off with a crack, and every target drops. Shimada freezes like a rabbit, staring at him, and Jesse lowers his gun. He can feel the burning in his eye, and it’s a little funny, looking at Shimada--almost like Deadeye’s light is reflected in the other’s glowing cybernetic eye. 

Funny, Jesse thinks again distantly, and then hears Reyes’ voice yelling over his comm. His eyes lock with Shimada’s for just a second of perfect understanding, and then they both tear off back towards the payload. 

He never does remember to ask about Dragonstrike. 

.

.

.

Shimada sits on the opposite side of the dropship and don’t look at him once the whole damn way back to base. 

Some fucking gratitude, there. 

.

.

.

When Jesse was a kid, for a little while in there he thought having a soulmate was a good thing; thought the flashy green dragon on his thigh was the promise of the best friend he’d ever have. He saw enough of soulmates to know better pretty quick, though. People’ll forgive anything about soulmates, no matter what anybody else has to say about it. The girls in the neighborhood with finger-shaped bruises under their makeup, the one kid in his sixth-grade class whose apparent match had been in her thirties, the soulmate pairs who hated each other for not being inhumanly perfect saviors, his own momma getting left behind in the name of his father’s _real_ soulmate--yeah, Jesse saw all that. He remembers it all. 

It ain’t the sort of thing that’s easy to forget. 

In Overwatch, it ain’t much different. Reyes is forty and has never met his promised match; Amari’s got _two_ and won’t talk about either; Fareeha and Angela can’t even know each other yet; hell, even _Torbjorn’s_ not married to his soulmate and don’t like to talk about why he ain’t. 

Jesse ain’t stupid. The stories they tell kids are simple, but soulmates are complicated. So he knows better than to expect anything out of his, and hopefully they’ll know enough to do the same. He don’t need to break some stupid romantic’s fool heart. 

Better that than anything worse, though. 

.

.

.

Shimada trains just as brutally as before. Angela don’t have as much time as before; she’s always working on or worrying about an upgrade for him. Jesse finds himself dragging Shimada out of the gym and Angela away from her work more than once. He’ll be damned if he knows how _he’s_ the responsible member of their age group, but as far as he can tell he’s it. 

“You’re doing good, kid,” Reyes says one day after training. Jesse immediately feels hunted, and gives him a guarded look in response. 

“Thank you kindly,” he says, since that’s the best he’s got. Reyes doesn’t seem to want to elaborate, mercifully, and Jesse figures he’s safe to grab a towel and sneak off to the showers. 

Turns out, cyborgs use those. Normally he wouldn’t find this worth commenting on, except as soon as he steps into the showers Shimada _stares_ at him. Stares at him with those beautiful, beautiful eyes. He’d like to be flattered by the attention, but he can’t help doubting it’s got anything to do with anything he’d like it to. 

“We’re staring now?” Jesse asks warily. Shimada shakes his head and tears his eyes away. 

“That tattoo--” he starts, then cuts himself off. 

“Yeah, it ain’t a tattoo,” Jesse says. “Obviously.” 

“It is a dragon,” Shimada says. 

“Yes,” Jesse says, giving him a perplexed look. That’s pretty obvious too, he figures. 

“It glows,” Shimada says. 

“Well, it’s a bit shiny, yeah.” Jesse frowns at him, resisting the urge to cover his soulmark. He feels more naked with it exposed than anything else, at the moment. 

“I thought--” Shimada hesitates, then shakes his head and moves quickly past him. Jesse lets him go, mostly because he’s acting so damned peculiar. He rinses off the sweat and scrubs himself down and distractedly wonders what the hell’s wrong with Shimada _this_ time. He didn’t even tell him to fuck off, which is practically unheard of. He was staring so strangely, like he’d never seen a damn naked man before. Which he has, obviously. He’s certainly seen _Jesse_ naked before, too. 

. . . he has, hasn’t he? He _must’ve_. 

Maybe not, come to think. Still, he doesn’t see why that’d be so damned distracting. His soulmark’s usually a point of interest, yes, but Shimada looked at it like it’d fucking _burned_ him, like--

Jesse remembers, briefly, the glowing green light blurred around Shimada on that FUBAR mission, and the reflection of his eyes in his eyes. 

_”REYES,”_ he yells, rushing out of the shower. 

.

.

.

Shimada don’t have a cybernetic eye. 

.

.

.

Jesse knows what Dragonstrike is now. He’s seen shitty security footage of it, even. 

It’s the exact same damn dragon. _Exact_. 

Jesus fucking _wept_. 

“You could’ve told me, dammit,” he says tersely. 

“Thought you weren’t concerned about finding your soulmate,” Reyes says, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t mean I wouldn’t wanna know I _had_ ,” Jesse retorts. Shimada knows, right? Shimada _has_ to know. He’d stared at him so strangely, both on the mission and in the shower; what else could it have been but the suspicion and the confirmation? 

Deadeye and Dragonstrike. Of all the damn things to be marked by. 

“Relax, kid,” Reyes says. “He’s not going anywhere.” 

“You’re kidding, right?” Jesse asks. Shimada took one look at him and ran. Which makes sense, really--he’d have done the same thing if it was him figuring it out first. The idea that they’re a match is nearly ludicrous, and even if it weren’t, the idea of Jesse being _pleased_ they were a match is even lower. 

So of course his match thinks the same damn thing. 

Only makes sense they would, right? 

“He’s not leaving Overwatch, is my point,” Reyes says. “You’ve got plenty of time to talk to him. Or not.” 

“That ain’t as helpful as you seem to think it is,” Jesse says, dragging a hand down his face. What would he even _say_? 

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything. Probably he shouldn’t, even. Almost definitely. Shimada clearly isn’t thrilled by the idea either, so maybe he should just play stupid and pretend not to have realized anything. Maybe he should just never take his damn pants off again, since clearly his soulmark is only ever gonna get his sorry ass in trouble. 

Maybe . . . 

Fuck if he knows. 

.

.

.

Shimada is definitely his soulmate. Jesse can’t imagine a single reason the other would be so aggressively avoiding him otherwise--and it is an _aggressive_ avoidance. Shimada nearly runs Angela over once and literally _vaults_ Reinhardt another time. It is very clear he does not want to be in Jesse’s space. 

Jesse’s actually a little bothered by it. It ain’t like they were friends or anything, but he’s pulled Shimada’s ass out of the fire and watched his back for him. He’d at least expect some basic courtesy. 

Maybe that’s too much to expect from someone as fucked up as Shimada, though. 

“Genji!” Angela protests as Shimada power-walks away like a man on a mission, except Jesse knows damn well they don’t have any missions for the next month, mostly because he’s supposed to be telling Shimada that right now. “I am so sorry, Jesse, I do not know what is _wrong_ with him lately.” 

“I do,” Jesse sighs, tipping his hat back. “Ain’t nothing you gotta worry about, Ange. If you see him before I do, tell him we’re benched for the rest of the month, alright?” 

“Benched?” Angela gives him a surprised look. “Is something wrong?” 

“Not to my knowledge,” Jesse says. “Reyes is gonna be busy with the rehaul of the base, though, and I don’t think he wants neither of us out without him.” 

“You mean he worries,” Angela says, smiling wryly at him. 

“I mean he wouldn’t trust us with our own skins, much less the rest of the team’s,” Jesse snorts. 

“If you say so,” Angela says. 

.

.

.

Jesse feels restless, like there’s a bug under his skin itching to get out. He spends a lot more time in the gym--and not dragging Shimada out of it. It ain’t really necessary, since Shimada still runs at the sight of him. 

He should do something about that, probably, since they’re supposed to get along. He’s a little concerned as to how he’s supposed to watch the guy’s ass when the guy keeps running off like his ass is on _fire_ at the sight of him. 

He’s a little concerned about a lot of things, right now, including why he’s so damn concerned. If Shimada wears himself out in the gym or gets his fool self hurt on a mission, well, that ain’t on Jesse. He’s done as he’s been told to the best of his ability, and it’s Shimada who won’t say boo to him, not the other way around. 

He thinks he’s mad, actually. He didn’t ask _anything_ of Shimada, not a _damn_ thing, and the other’s acting like he’d demanded--something, he don’t know what. Like he’d hurt him, or like he might. 

Well . . . okay, alright. So he can’t really be mad. What’s Shimada really know about him, anyway? What’s he really know about _Shimada_? 

He wishes the guy would talk to him, but he’s not gonna push it. It’s Shimada’s own business if he wants nothing to do with him. Hell, it’s not like Jesse ever wanted anything to do with _his_ soulmate; it’s bullshit if he backtracks on that now just because he’s actually met the guy and got annoyed over him doing the exact same thing he probably would’ve done if he’d figured them out first. 

He’s resented his soulmark since he was a kid. Of course it’d resent him right back. 

.

.

.

All they have to do is get along enough to do missions together. 

.

.

.

All they have to do is get along enough not to fuck _up_ missions together. 

.

.

.

They fuck up the mission. 

.

.

.

“Jesus,” Jesse wheezes, staring blankly at the alley wall. Reyes is cursing into his comm; Shimada is staring down at him with those gorgeous marked eyes of his. 

Down? That’s weird. He’s taller than Shimada. 

Oh, that’s right. He fell. 

“You fucking _stupid kid_!” Reyes is shouting at him, which--unfair, Jesse thinks, he hadn’t fallen on _purpose_. He’d just sort of . . . gotten chased . . . and shot at . . . and slipped . . . and . . . and fallen, then. So not on purpose. Obviously. 

Fuck, he _hurts_. 

_”MOIRA!”_ Reyes yells. Jesse closes his eyes. Even listening to Reyes’ voice is painful. 

Why had he been on the roof again? 

Oh, right, he remembers, and opens his eyes to look at Shimada again. Shimada was up there. Shimada, unfortunately, is a _lot_ better at climbing than Jesse is. Or--fortunately, actually, since if they were _both_ on the ground right now they’d be in some real trouble. 

There’s blood on Shimada’s mask that wasn’t there before, he notices distractedly. 

“I can’t leave you gentlemen alone for a moment, can I,” O’Deorain says with a sigh, golden light lighting up the alley as she kneels beside him. “This will hurt.” 

“Don’t it always?” Jesse asks her with a grin. 

It really does. 

.

.

.

Back in the drop ship Jesse feels fragile enough to fall apart on the stretcher, which is how he always feels after O’Deorain fixes him up. He feels a lot of ways, in fact, mostly because Shimada’s staring at him with those eyes again. 

Well. That’s new. Or . . . old, maybe. 

“Seriously, you can calm down,” Jesse says, stupid on painkillers and too tired to play dumb, or maybe just too loose-lipped with Reyes and O’Deorain up front and out of earshot. “I ain’t gonna bother you about it.” 

“Be quiet,” Shimada says. “You are injured.” 

“I’m fine.” Jesse touches his aching ribs. He’s had worse, probably. “I _know_ , alright?” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Shimada says. Jesse huffs, then points to his own eye. Shimada stiffens. 

“It ain’t subtle,” Jesse says. “Took me longer than it shoulda, but I’m not stupid.” 

“I do not think you are stupid,” Shimada says, and Jesse laughs. ‘Course he does. Everyone does, except maybe Reyes. 

“I always figured you’d be flashier,” he says distractedly, prodding at his ribs again. It is definitely a mistake. 

“I used to be,” Shimada says, voice carefully neutral. Jesse might back off, normally, but right now he’s tired and hurting and Shimada’s not running away for the first time in _months_ , so . . . 

“You sure did leave me with one hell of a mark to entirely fail to live up to,” he says. 

“I told you,” Shimada says stiffly. “I was different before this.” 

“I’m talking about _me_ , partner,” Jesse snorts, draping an arm over his eyes. “I look like the sort to get marked like that? I look like the sort to _deserve_ a mark like that? Always knew I couldn’t possibly live up to whatever you were hoping for. So you can calm down already. I ain’t gonna ask you for nothing.” 

“You think you are unworthy of my mark?” Shimada asks in an odd tone. 

“I didn’t say _unworthy_ , Jesus,” Jesse says, lifting his arm to look over at the other again. 

“You said you did not deserve it,” Shimada says. 

“I’ve seen soulmates go wrong often enough,” Jesse says. More than often enough. 

“That has nothing to do with what you said,” Shimada says, stepping closer. Jesse wonders where his hat went, mostly because he’d like to tip it over his eyes. 

“Don’t see how it don’t,” he says. 

“I am not what you expected,” Shimada says. “Nor will I ever be anything like that person again.” 

“Don’t rightly recall meeting that person, much less saying I expected something from him,” Jesse says. They look at each other for a long moment, and then Shimada sits down on the edge of the stretcher. 

They might be idiots, Jesse thinks. 

“I’m not gonna fall in love with you,” he says. 

“I am not going to recover,” Shimada says. 

“Fair enough,” Jesse says. 

.

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It’s funny, later. But it’s not later yet. 

.

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“You two alright?” Reyes asks. 

“Right as rain, boss,” Jesse says. 

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.

“You seem better,” Angela says as she gives him one last look-over, and Jesse smiles wryly at her. He’s already itching to get out of the hospital gown and back to his bunk, but he don’t mind the excuse to spend some time with Angela, even if she’s working. 

“Oh, so I was worse?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she replies dryly, giving his forehead a light flick. “You’re positively glowing, by comparison.” 

“Ain’t that what they say to pregnant women?” Jesse snorts. 

“Pregnant women and especially flashy soulmarks, I would say,” Angela says. 

“I always thought of it more as a gleam,” Jesse says. 

“Right now it looks practically _polished_ ,” Angela says. “I would not ask, normally, but . . .” 

“But?” He raises his eyebrows at her. 

“I did wonder, when I first saw Genji’s soulmark,” she admits. “Is it yours?” 

“Seems so,” he says, and she hums to herself, briefly occupying herself with writing something on his chart. 

“It certainly took you long enough,” she says. 

“In my defense, I assumed the eye was cybernetic,” Jesse says, and Angela snorts. 

“You think I would have given a covert operative a _glowing eye_?” she asks. 

“Chestplate,” he reminds her, tapping his own chest in illustration. 

“That happens to be housing an integral power source,” she replies primly as she sets his chart aside. 

“Uh-huh. And you didn’t block the glow because . . .?” 

“Oh, hush,” Angela says, making a face at him. “This from the one who wears _spurs_.” 

“Hey now, don’t insult a man’s roots,” Jesse says, putting a hand over his heart in mock-offense, and she laughs. 

“I am glad you found him,” she says. “I hope you both get what you need from each other.” 

“Can’t say as I’d expect someone else to have what I need in ‘em,” Jesse says wryly. 

“Perhaps you need something unexpected, then,” Angela says. 

.

.

.

“I do not need you to watch my back,” Shimada says. 

“Forgive me if I succumb to temptation anyway,” Jesse says. 

.

.

.

The next mission goes a lot smoother. 

.

.

.

“Behind you!” Shimada shouts in the middle of the melee, and Jesse spins and hurls a stun grenade at the Talon assassin who was rushing up on them, sending her staggering. 

“Thank you kindly,” he says as he puts a bullet in her chest, feeling the familiar red burn rising in his eye as Shimada leaps over his head and comes down on the next agent. Shimada is a bladed blur, fast enough to barely be seen, to deflect _bullets_ , and Jesse recognizes all the signs of the dragon rising in him the same way as Deadeye rises in him. 

Jesse’s getting used to having Dragonstrike at his back. He’s got a good feel for when it’s coming, now. Won’t be long. 

He likes knowing it’s coming. 

“I need that floor clear _now_!” Reyes’ voice crackles over the comm line, Shimada at Jesse’s side with his sword drawn and a fresh wave of Talon agents already closing in on their position. 

“Won’t be a problem, boss,” Jesse says lightly as the world washes out to gray, but not before he catches a glimpse of a green and shining beast that looks like it’s made of light out of the corner of his eye. 

Dragons ain’t real, except for when Shimada makes them that way.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


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